


10-41

by SLWalker



Series: Midnight Blue [16]
Category: Midnight Blue - Fandom, due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1998: <i>Somewhere in there, things happened.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	10-41

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before See What Happens, in Arch to the Sky.

He pulled the cruiser down the driveway, got out, made sure it was locked and made himself go up the steps and into the house.

Even dead on his feet, the compulsion to go get back in 424 was almost overwhelming. In case he missed something. In case one of those tractor-trailers that came through in the graveyard hours was the one. If he was going to haul contraband, he'd do it when the least number of Mounties were on the road. They could have scanners. Listen for Allan or Prince to get a call, come through while they were tied up.

Mike sighed, locking his front door.

Or, he was being paranoid and compulsive.

He didn't remember going from the front door to standing in front of the couch in his night clothes. Somewhere in there, things happened. The same things that always happened. Fight with himself to get out of uniform, fight with himself to go back downstairs to make a sandwich, fight with himself to go back upstairs and brush his teeth, and fight with himself to go lay down for a few hours.

He checked the portable radio again. Turned it on, low volume, just in case. Put his cordless phone on the coffee table. Ran a hand through his hair. Looked at the couch.

He laid down, finally, curling up and watching the green light blinking on his portable. Listened to the furnace kicking on. Picked over case notes in his head, because the alternative was worse. Followed the patchwork meandering of his own detective work, because it made it so he could _breathe_. Felt the couch warm to his body heat.

His thoughts spiraled off into static, the blinking light went dim, and out of the static someone, whispering, asked four-fourteen to advise a code.


End file.
